


Finding Home

by Vagabond



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alpha Aziraphale (Good Omens), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Insecurity, Love Bites, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Rituals, Nesting, Omega Crowley (Good Omens), Scent Marking, Scenting, Weird Angel Biology, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, but soft, everything is consensual always, it is mature because of the biting and making out and my generally weird take on ABO, no actual smut in this tho, the ABO dynamics are heavily modified because i like a whole three or four things about them, they buy SHEETS, this is the softest thing honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 19:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20551700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: Aziraphale protects, as it is his nature. Whether it is giving away his flaming sword to defenseless humans, or coming to Crowley in his time of need, he sees it as his duty. If there's a little bit of love simmering beneath it all, especially when a certain demon's wings are laid out before him shivering with need, well. He'll do his duty first, and figure out the rest later.Or: an alpha angel and an omega demon eventually overcome the end of the world, their insecurities, and manage to find a home together.





	Finding Home

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to take a short break from my [Stories from the Cottage in South Downs Series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1432867) to write something a little different. I'm a sucker for wingfic, wing grooming, scenting, and general weird mating habits when it comes to these two idiots, but these themes don't really fit my other series as it is. Therefore here's a completely unrelated fic playing with some very, VERY light A/B/O dynamics. 
> 
> This is, above all else, soft. So soft. Please enjoy.

The Almighty had always been the type to experiment. The human race wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for Her endless curiosity. Aziraphale supposed if he were an all powerful, omniscient being he, too, would play creator. After all, being the only one of your kind in the universe seemed lonely. If you couldn’t create something like yourself, the next best thing would be to create children. 

Of course when you’re creating things where things were never created before it can get complicated. For angels, Her first born children, She tried to predict all the ways creatures may want to relate to each other. Later, it would all be reduced down to _ male _ and _ female_, penises and vaginas, despite humanity eventually rebelling against it because nothing ever quite worked the way one expected it to. 

Aziraphale loved it, of course - the variety, the very human decision to end up a little closer to angels than they might realize. Perhaps God’s first round of figuring out relationships was a little closer to the mark than Her phase two creations. Whatever the case, Aziraphale knew that he was still separate from humanity because they did not have genders, or sexes, or any of that. 

Rather, angels (and later, demons) had _ dispositions _ if you would. Characteristics that grouped them into slightly different categories. Aziraphale, for example, was what one could call an alpha, despite despairing of the term. It simply meant he had a knack for protecting, guarding, that he was a helper at his core, and his natural instincts propelled him toward actions in alignment with those. 

Sandalphon, for example, was of a disposition casually referred to as an omega. Of course, it didn’t make him any lesser an angel (being an archangel and all). Rather, it made him somewhat of a caretaker, better at expressing emotions and relating to others through them. Of the archangels he had the best emotional vocabulary, though he rarely chose to use it, much to Aziraphale’s disappointment. 

Michael was the perfect example of the final disposition, a beta. Again, hierarchy between the dispositions didn’t really exist in heaven. They were all more or less equal outside of their military rank. Their dispositions didn’t impact their positions or standing in angelic society (or at least, they weren’t supposed to). Betas, like Michael, were observers. They are strategists. Whereas alphas protect, and omegas take care of, betas come up with strategies and systems that keep everything going. 

Everyone, regardless of disposition, could contribute however. Aziraphale got called into strategy meetings just as often as Michael, who is tasked at times with handling emotions and being empathetic. They’re all whole beings and they were not defined by their secondary characters. Rather, the secondary characteristics offered roles and ways of relating to each other that came a bit more naturally that they might have anyway. 

Consider them to be an ice breaker at an awkward party where everyone hadn’t existed, and suddenly did, and had to figure out what exactly it meant to exist. 

Right. 

The first complication in the whole set-up came when God created the earth, and humans, and suddenly Her Host broke into squabbles and rioted. Part of their dispositions led to _ needs _, or what one could call forced relationships. Really, it was all an experiment gone terribly wrong at its core, and while She had rectified it through far more simplified humans, it was no surprise that the likes of Lucifer and the rest didn’t take it well. 

After all, alpha instinct came with downsides. Aziraphale knew it well enough, he’d felt the utter _ yearning _ from within to be near an omega, to be in close quarters and relationship with another. It was an instinctual push that was difficult to ignore, something that humans had the chance to opt out of. The Host, however, didn’t get that chance. They were stuck meeting biological and spiritual needs because it was how they were made. 

No wonder there was rebellion. Instead of trying to help what She had already created, She made something new instead. The war was terrible, and Aziraphale wondered if any of it was worth it in the end when he returned to the yawning, open spaces of heaven that lacked so many of his kin. 

He left the Host for the Garden and found he preferred the simplicity of humans to the complications in heaven anyway. 

“That went down like a lead balloon.” A serpent materialized beside him in a man-shaped form, and Aziraphale’s first thought was _ ah, a complication_. 

Later on down the line, Aziraphale found Crowley to be less of a complication than he anticipated. Unlike in heaven, where Aziraphale experienced all sorts of feelings tied to his alpha nature, Crowley provoked nothing in him outside of normal, gooey, human-like affection. Perhaps demons lost that piece of themselves when they fell. 

Whatever the case, Aziraphale found for the first time in his life he was allowed to relate to a being similar enough to himself without worrying about _ instinct_. It was a delight, though he would never tell the demon that, and the two thwarted and blessed and dined together. 

That was until sometime after The Arrangement was struck and Crowley agreed to meet Aziraphale in France and didn’t show up. The demon ran on his own schedule at times but never in history thus far had he ever purposely not shown up at an appointed place and time. It worried Aziraphale, more than he cared to admit, and he told himself he ought to track him down to make sure he’s not getting into trouble elsewhere. 

He ignored the little voice in the back of his mind that insisted, perhaps, he had been betrayed. 

It wasn’t terribly hard to find Crowley. Despite Aziraphale being an angel and Crowley a demon they still came from the same stock and remained connected in often intangible ways. It isn’t true for all angels and demons, only the ones who decide to maintain those bonds.

For example, Aziraphale knew for a fact Michael kept tabs on Lucifer despite the two of them being separated for thousands of years. It is like that, sometimes. You keep an eye on those you love, even when they make poor choices. 

Not that he loved Crowley or anything like that.

He found him at an inn in the French countryside, which worried him more than had he found him somewhere completely off the mark. Somehow knowing Crowley made it this close before _ something _ happened left Aziraphale’s stomach twisted in a knot. 

After he spoke to the innkeeper, he made his way up the stairs and down the hall to the room where a man matching Crowley’s description had taken up residence two nights before and paid for the week. As he approached the door he was overwhelmed with smells - a mix of wood fire, incense, and beneath it all the pungent scent of distress. 

Something deep inside of him stirred, something long forgotten an unused. He stood a bit taller as he let himself into the room and tried to ignore the fire the smells stoked in his belly. They made him angry because there was an omega in distress and every one of his nerves screamed to protect them. 

Ready for a fight, Aziraphale glanced around the room to find no threats. Instead, his eyes found Crowley’s bent figure on the bed. The demon sat in the middle, knees pulled to his chest, face buried in them as his body visibly trembled. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped out as he ensured the door was locked behind him before he crossed the distance to the bed. 

Crowley merely whined in reply, fingertips curled tightly in the legs of his pants. 

“My dear, what’s happened?” Aziraphale asked, despite knowing instinctively. The distress is that of an omega who has been separated from others. An omega _ alone _ in a world where base instincts pushed toward connectedness. It offended Aziraphale on some basic level, that Crowley felt so alone when Aziraphale was _ right there_. 

Crowley shook his head and his wings manifested. They were sleek, gorgeous things, with dark feathers that shimmered in the light, iridescent and breathtaking. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale got onto the bed on one knee, nerves keeping him from advancing further as his own instincts propelled him forward. “Your wings are lovely,” he whispered, “may I touch them?” 

Crowley nodded against his knees and Aziraphale caught the sharp inhale of a sob. 

“There now,” Aziraphale consoled as he carefully removed his boots and moved to sit cross-legged on the bed behind Crowley. This was familiar, though Aziraphale’s hands shook regardless. He’d groomed many a wing in his days in heaven, but it had been centuries since then, and he momentarily worried that he would hurt Crowley. 

He shook his head and took a steadying breath before he reached out and ran his fingertips gently through his primaries. Crowley’s entire body trembled, wings quivering, and Aziraphale moved his hand to rest firmly on the back of Crowley’s neck instead. 

“Be calm,” he insisted, channeling some firm sense of self from within his chest that was so unlike him but felt right. “I’ve got you.” 

Aziraphale squeezed, gripping Crowley’s neck similar to how one might grab the scruff of a puppy. It had the desired result: Crowley’s trembling died down and Aziraphale heard him release a long, steady exhale. 

“Good.” Aziraphale loosened his grip and stroked his fingers over the sensitive skin apologetically. “Now let me groom your wings, and then we’ll see about further taking care of you, hm?” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale waited for him to continue but he didn’t. 

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale hesitated, not wishing to overstep a boundary. There was instinct, and then there were manners, and he would not give up the latter for the former. There had been enough of that in heaven, of alphas forcing their needs on others, and he would have no part of it. 

“Yes. Please don’t stop.” Crowley began to tremble again and Aziraphale leaned forward, mouth right beside his ear. 

“I won’t stop, Crowley. Not until you’re alright.” 

Crowley turned his head and awkwardly brushed their noses together, before he leaned his temple against Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale nudged him back, nose pressed to Crowley’s cheek for a long, almost painfully intimate moment, before he pulled back and set to his previous task. 

He worked his way through Crowley’s right wing, correcting crooked feathers. A couple were ready to come out, so he gently informed Crowley before rustling them loose and allowing them to float to the bed, and to the floor. For Aziraphale, the whole process was rather hypnotic once he got into it. It was a haze of sensation, each feather, each soft patch of down made his skin tingle pleasantly and seemed to stroke whatever beast lay inside of him, growling and grumbling about the distress that still hung in the air. 

It dissipated the more he worked, the sharp scent of distress disappearing beneath wood fire and incense that permeated from Crowley. He worked on Crowley’s left wing and gave it the same treatment, keeping an eye and ear out for Crowley’s reactions. Sometimes he would twitch and shiver, and Aziraphale would repeat the touch to his wing to draw it out of him again. 

He noticed that Crowley’s neck was flushed and smiled to himself. 

“Good?” He asked, after a long bout of silence. “I’ve finished tidying them, and I’d like to oil them. Finish the preening.” 

Now for the awkward part: every instinct he had insisted he should use his own oil, from a gland that existed just over his own shoulder. Much like Crowley smelled like wood fire and smoke, Aziraphale had his own equally enticing scent, and he very much wanted to make sure Crowley would smell like him for _ months_. 

The thought turned his insides to syrup. 

“My g-gland,” Crowley let out a shuddering breath as Aziraphale’s fingers inadvertently curled in his feathers, “between my shoulders, under my shirt.” 

Ah. Aziraphale tried to ignore the disappointment that settled over him like a suffocating wool blanket on a hot day. This was about Crowley, not about his selfish needs. 

He managed, with a bit of tugging, to get the collar of Crowley’s shirt down enough to reach the gland. To humans it would look like an ordinary birthmark, but Aziraphale knew better. He gently swiped his fingers over it and they came away glistening, the smell of fire and incense heavier here, enticing and almost intoxicating. 

Aziraphale swallowed down the possessiveness that rose up in him as he sharply reminded the animal inside of him that Crowley belonged to no one. He was his own being. 

The process of oiling was a pleasant one, particularly for Crowley who shuddered and shifted beneath every gentle drag of Aziraphale’s fingers. At least he could covet those, Aizraphale thought. He’d store them away in his memory and try not to think of what else he could do to draw out even more wonderful sounds and wiggles from the demon. 

Oiling took a solid half hour as Aziraphale was meticulous and Crowley appeared to grow more and more at ease as the process continued. Eventually he leaned back against Aziraphale, chin drooping, eyes closed. Aziraphale finished the process and indulgently put an arm around Crowley’s waist to hold him back against his chest. 

“You can’t be comfortable this way, my dear boy,” Aziraphale insisted after a moment, all to aware that his crossed legs made for an uncomfortable barrier pressing into Crowley’s lower back. 

“Then move your damn legs, Angel,” Crowley grumbled and Aziraphale was heartened to see a little bit of his friend’s bratish nature return. It meant he was on the mend. The worst had passed. 

Aziraphale moved his legs so that Crowley could settle between them, his wings folding and disappearing. It was another disappointment that Aziraphale acknowledged and then locked away in the recesses of his mind. He focused instead on lying back against the pillows and Crowley seemed to appreciate it, shifting so he could nose up beneath Aziraphale’s jaw. 

He could feel as much as hear him inhale and Aziraphale hummed, pleased. 

“You smell good, ‘Zira,” Crowley mumbled as he nestled closer. 

“I didn’t realize you were an omega,” Aziraphale replied quietly, carding his fingers through Crowley’s hair in a gesture he would later justify as his duty as an alpha. That came first, didn’t it? How was he supposed to ignore instinct when no one had prepared him for the fact that demons still carried their secondary characteristics with them? 

“Eugh.” Crowley’s face wrinkled in distaste. “I don’t like that term.” 

“I’ve never much liked it either, admittedly.” Aziraphale continued to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair, appreciative of the soft sighs they elicited. His hair was long and soft, curly in the humid air. He wound a strand of it around his index finger and allowed it to slowly uncurl as he pulled his hand away, the strands silky and indulgent against his skin. 

“You weren’t supposed to realize,” Crowley murmured after a moment, nosing once more against Aziraphale’s neck. Then he licked at Aziraphale’s pulse, tongue warm and wet, startling him to the point of nearly pulling Crowley’s hair. 

“Crowley,” he snapped, “what are you doing?” 

Crowley visibly flinched and ducked his head, burrowing it against Aziraphale’s chest instead. He said nothing and Aziraphale took a steadying breath before he resumed his petting. When Crowley continued to say nothing, he slid his hand to the back of his neck once more and squeezed. 

“I’m sorry I snapped,” Aziraphale apologized, “you startled me, that’s all.” 

“I’m a demon. Can’t help myself.” 

Aziraphale sighed. He wanted to insist it wasn’t true, that he knew Crowley was no more helpless to the wiles and whims of his nature than Aziraphale was to his. But they couldn’t have that conversation, not now, not when their existences were at risk if either of their sides found out about their fraternizing. No, they had to keep their interests locked away and buried, masked beneath duty and instinct. 

They could only have what they could justify to their superiors, which in retrospect was very little, but also just enough. 

“How do you feel?” Aziraphale asked after a while. He’d hoped Crowley would fall asleep, that his scent would soothe him and let him rest deeply enough that Aziraphale could slip away and not have to worry. Instead, Crowley sat in tense silence, nose once more pressed up under Aziraphale’s jaw which was where his scent would be strongest aside from his own oil gland. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted when he was met with more silence. 

“Bite me, Aziraphale.” The words practically tumbled out of Crowley’s mouth as he curled in on himself, but tried to huddle closer to Aziraphale. He looked like he expected to be shoved away, so Aziraphale held him closer, tighter, and squeezed the back of his neck possessively. 

In a few centuries, it would be a term used by street punks to tell off friends and authority figures alike. Right now, however, Aziraphale shivered at the request. For all that angels and demons were sexless unless interested in making an effort, their natures still compelled them toward possessive and oftentimes passionate actions. 

Biting was one of them. Marking, really. Aziraphale remembered what it was like in heaven before the fall, when partners were more plentiful. He could vividly recall the dark bruises on Lucifer’s neck and Michael’s pleased look when they saw the Morningstar proudly showing off the proof of their connection. 

“Why, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley’s shoulders hunched. 

“Ergh, I just, I _ need_,” Crowley’s sentence devolved into pained hissing as he tried to pull away from Aziraphale. 

Something inside of him responded and he used his weight and position, along with Crowley’s momentum, to flip him and pin Crowley face down to the bed. His hand rested possessively over the back of his neck as he straddled the demon’s slim hips. Aziraphale’s other hand rested on the bed, holding him up off of Crowley but just barely. 

“_No_,” Aziraphale growled, though the fiery red that had overtaken his vision faded quickly. He loosened his hold but Crowley shook his head. 

“Keep me pinned,” he begged quietly, “_please_, Aziraphale.” 

This, Aziraphale could do. He applied a bit more pressure, bore down on Crowley’s pinned and captured figure. The demon was so warm beneath him. 

“Why do you want me to bite you, Crowley?” 

Crowley shuddered and Aziraphale did not miss the way he squirmed beneath his weight. He held firm. 

“I need it, Aziraphale,” he whimpered as he buried his face in the sheets. The scent of distress was back in the air, mingling with something else that Aziraphale couldn’t quite put a finger on. His insides burned to soothe Crowley, to chase that scent away again. 

“I need to feel like I belong, even for a moment,” he whispered despondently, going lax beneath Aziraphale’s grip. Crowley was submitting, giving in. He would allow Aziraphale to decide what to do. 

_ You’re a demon_, Aziraphale thought but he didn’t say it. Couldn’t say it. Crowley was also his friend. Someone he cared about. He was a being of love, after all. Connection was what he and Crowley were created for, even if they ended up on separate paths. 

“I’m going to let you go,” Aziraphale said with a steadiness he didn’t feel as monkeys did backflips in his chest. “When I do I want you to roll onto your back and show me your throat.” 

Crowley shuddered again and Aziraphale watched his hands clutch the sheets and then release them. 

“Be calm, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear, “I have you my dear boy. I’m going to give you what you need. I won’t leave.” 

The debauched whine that filled the room would be burned into Aziraphale’s mind for all eternity. He let Crowley up and watched him slowly roll over, hips still straddled by Aziraphale’s knees. Golden bright eyes stared up at him, normally slit pupils blown wide with need. 

“Good lad,” Aziraphale murmured as he reached up to press his hand flat against Crowley’s throat. Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut as he instinctively tilted his head back against the pillows, his hair spread out beneath him like a halo of red.

Aziraphale pulled back his hand then and took in the sight of Crowley unmarked throat. The long column of it was a temptation. He dragged his fingertip from pulse to collarbone once, then back up as he watched his throat move as he swallowed hard. Leaning down, it was Aziraphale’s turn to nose up under Crowley’s jaw, his wood fire and incense scent bumping up against some primal bit of his brain that begged for _ something_, though Aziraphale didn’t understand what. 

Once he had his fill of his scent, he pressed his lips tenderly to Crowley’s pulse and enjoyed the sharp intake of unnecessary breath it wrought. He pressed his tongue against his salty skin and felt Crowley’s pulse quicken beneath the attention. Aziraphale sucked indulgently and decided this was better than anything he’d tasted on earth yet. 

Crowley whimpered, and that’s when Aziraphale bit him. He pressed his blunt teeth into heated flesh hard enough to bruise and his hand flew down to Crowley’s hip to keep him from bucking too much. He continued to bite as Crowley cried out, his fingers seeking some sort of hold only to find it in the back of Aziraphale’s tunic. 

Finally, Aziraphale released the bite and began to languidly lick the abused skin, enjoying the way Crowley trembled and whimpered beneath him entirely too much. Then he nuzzled him, nose bumping against his jaw. 

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked, brushing his lips gently over Crowley’s snake tattoo as Crowley threatened to tremble himself into discorporation. 

“Again?” Crowley asked, voice rough. “Azssssiraphale.” His name devolved into a soft, pleading whine. 

“Yes, alright,” Aziraphale replied as gently as he could. “Goodness, Crowley, you shouldn’t allow yourself to get to this point. You aren’t alone.” 

Crowley didn’t respond, so Aziraphale mouthed his way lazily along his jaw and down his neck again. He picked a spot a little to the right of his windpipe, visible to anyone and everyone. He sucked on the spot longer this time, determined to memorize every taste and every texture, before he bit down again. 

Crowley’s fingers tightened in his tunic as he went a bit rigid, a low keening sound coming from somewhere deep within him. Aziraphale kept up the pressure as long as he could without breaking the skin, finally releasing the bite and lapping at it again. He pulled back and blew a stream of cold air on it, much to his delight and Crowley’s increased trembling and twitching. 

Out of instinct, Aziraphale rocked their hips together despite neither of them having made an effort. There was still something in the motion of it that was enjoyable, particularly the way Aziraphale’s applied weight seemed to ease Crowley’s tremors. 

“Mine,” Aziraphale whispered into his ear. He wasn’t, not really. Again, in the true light of day, away from this stumbling heat that had settled over Crowley, he would recognize that the demon was his own being. Today, however, he would indulge them both in a fantasy neither of them would ever be able to keep up with. 

That seemed to calm Crowley down far more than biting, or preening, or scenting. All at once, like wine leaking out of a wine skin, the tension eased out of Crowley’s body until his hands slid from Aziraphale’s tunic back to the bed. Aziraphale, reluctant to break the calm, simply nuzzled Crowley once more before he slid off of him and settled in beside him instead. 

Crowley, boneless and serpentine as he was, rolled over and managed to tuck himself in against Aziraphale’s chest. Their legs tangled together, Crowley’s arms slipping around him, and he buried his face against Aziraphale’s collar. Once settled, he went lax again, breathing easy and even. 

The distress that once lingered in the air was completely gone. It left Aziraphale with a sense of calm too, the beast within momentarily soothed knowing it had done its job well. 

There were no further words exchanged as a hazy, muddled exhaustion settled over them both. Aziraphale forced himself to remain awake even as Crowley’s body went slack, lips parted, face mashed against Aziraphale’s chest. He stayed for a short while, watching over the demon, making sure nothing troubled him in his sleep. Then, when he believed Crowley to be completely at rest, he untangled their limbs and slipped from the bed. 

It upset the beast that lived inside him and it snarled at him to stay, to protect, to guard. From where he leaned against the wall to tug on his boots he could still make out the two bruises he’d left on Crowley’s neck to mark him, claim him. _ Mine _ , Aziraphale thought with a scoff. _ As if he ever could be_. 

He glanced heavenward, up at the wooden slats in the ceiling, and wondered if anyone knew what he’d done. His gaze trailed back to Crowley and he hoped even if heaven figured it out, hell wouldn’t. Aziraphale didn’t dare to think about what they’d do if they knew Crowley had submitted, even temporarily, to an angelic alpha. 

A final glance at Crowley provided an image Aziraphale hoped he’d never forget before he slipped out of the room and out of the inn.

**

They never spoke about it. 

Aziraphale thought the next time they met it would come up, that there’d be an awkward song and dance around the elephant in the room before they decided upfront to pretend it never happened. Instead, Crowley acted no differently than he ever had. Aziraphale ignored his disappointment and tucked away all the arguments he had prepared.

The Arrangement persisted, and thought he longed for it Aziraphale never caught whiff of that wonderful wood fire and incense smell again. Crowley never missed another meeting and Aziraphale wondered how often he suffered alone. Maybe he found someone else to meet his needs instead. Neither thought sat well with him, but what was he to do? They were technically _ enemies_. 

Of course the end of the world arrived, then didn’t. Humanity was saved by a lot of incompetence and a very human Antichrist. Crowley and Aziraphale managed to trick heaven and hell and avoided their final punishment. Everything was new, or at least new-adjacent, similar to what it was but moved over a smidge to the left so it caught the light better. 

Crowley still came over for drinks in the evenings. They got together for lunch on most days. They walked in St. James park and fed the ducks and did all the things they’d done before, except this time it was without the yoke of responsibility put on them by their former employers. It was nice, but it left Aziraphale unsettled and sometimes he found himself staring at the unmarked length of Crowley’s neck, wondering, wishing. 

Regardless, they settled into a routine that Aziraphale deemed to be safe and comfortable enough. It would have to do. Even if they were on their own side now there were still rules to uphold. To be frank, he was grateful Crowley even wanted to stick around. There had been a voice in the back of his head all these years that said given the chance, when a relationship was no longer mutually beneficial for work, Crowley would turn tail and run. 

But he didn’t. He was still there, driving Aziraphale around in the Bently, sipping good wine and laughing, falling asleep sprawled across Aziraphale’s couch when their drinking went too late into the evening and he didn’t want to go home. He tutted, but took joy in every glass picked delicately out of Crowley’s lax hand because it gave him a chance to study his face in a way he didn’t get too when he was awake. 

As of late, Crowley had begun to beg off of their afternoon get togethers. Aziraphale would invite him out for tea and he insisted on one excuse or another to keep from being available. Then, like his actions weren’t dodgy and suspicious, he’d be back to their normal routine only to have it drop off again. 

A number of thoughts floated around Aziraphale’s mind. Perhaps Crowley still indulged in temptations every now and again and didn’t want him to know. Or maybe he’d taken up knitting. The possibilities were endless and Aziraphale liked that about as much as he liked the teenagers who slipped into his bookshop looking for a public restroom. The gall. 

The bell attached to the door clinked and he glanced up from his deeply important crossword puzzle wondering if he had inadvertently summoned the teenagers. No, he realized quickly as a familiar lithe, ebony clad demon sauntered in. He’d just summoned Crowley. 

“Angel!” Crowley smiled and it was an easy, toothy thing. “How about a ride?” 

“What?” Aziraphale hastily covered up his crossword to make it seem as if he’d been doing real work. “Where?” 

“The countryside. Lovely day for it.” Crowley leaned against one of the bookcases and tried to look nonchalant. Aziraphale wasn’t fooled, taking in the nervous fidgeting of Crowley’s fingers against the hem of his shirt and the way he ever-so-slightly tapped his foot to the floor. 

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale hedged, “the shop is open, after all.” 

“The shop!” Crowley scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Close it. You’re not going to sell anything anyway.” 

“I’ll have you know I do sell things from time to time,” Aziraphale sniffed, “but I suppose if you’re set on this, yes, we can go.” 

“Don’t make it seem like I’m forcing it,” Crowley said as he pulled a face. “It was just an offer. Thought you might like to get out.” 

Ah, there it was. Crowley’s face fell in a split second of disappointment. There was something else afoot, and Aziraphale wanted to know what. He rose then and clapped his hands together. 

“No forcing necessary, my dear. I’d be delighted to go on a countryside drive with you.” 

Crowley’s posture eased in a way that pleased Aziraphale. He offered a small but reassuring smile. He closed up the shop and they made their way into the Bentley. London fell away as they drove out of the city, buildings and bustle shifting into hills and fields. 

“Where are we going?” Aziraphale asked after half an hour of driving. 

“It is a surprise, Angel,” Crowley insisted, “we’ll be driving another hour or so.” 

“I didn’t realize this was going to be a road trip.” Aziraphale pressed his temple against the passenger side window. 

“This is hardly a road trip.” Crowley snorted. 

“We should have picked up snacks,” Aziraphale continued forlornly. “Or you could have told me to bring a book.” 

“Can you not entertain yourself for an hour?” 

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley and couldn’t quite tell if the demon was looking at him or not because of the blasted glasses. He sighed loudly. 

“I _ suppose_.” He messed with the tape player and something or another by Queen began. 

It was Crowley’s turn to sigh. 

They eventually pulled up a gravel driveway and parked beneath a car port. Aziraphale took in the picturesque scene before them. Crowley had brought him to a small cottage tucked off of the main road. It was cream colored, with dark blue accents and an angular roof. There was an empty flower box beneath a front facing window, along with front garden beds, and a step-stone walking path that took them from carport to front door. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked but Crowley was already out of the car, beckoning for him to follow. He did. He followed him right up to the front door expecting to pause and knock, but Crowley walked right in. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed and reached out to grab him, but Crowley laughed and used the reach to tug him into the house. 

“Calm down, Angel,” he said, “this place belongs to us.” 

“Pardon?” Aziraphale thought he misheard something as the door shut behind him. 

“It belongs to us,” Crowley repeated as his grip on Aziraphale’s arm slid down so that their hands were joined, fingers lacing together. He used this point of contact to tug Aziraphale a little closer to him, even as his head turned away. It gave Aziraphale confusing and mixed signals. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale stepped in closer, pressed into Crowley’s space, and just beneath the smell of soap and leather he realized it was there: the faintest wisp of wood fire. 

“I thought - “ he hesitated, broke off the sentence, recalibrated, “well, after all we’ve been through, I figured we deserved a place of our own, together. You don’t have to give up the bookshop or anything, or even move here for good. I just thought, you know, we could have a place that’s just for us. That’s new.” Crowley visibly swallowed and Aziraphale was momentarily distracted by the line of his neck. 

“I know it is presumptuous but I did it anyway. Maybe I should have talked to you before but-” 

Aziraphale silenced him by yanking him down into a kiss. Oh, he’d wanted to do that for a millennia now. 

The kiss was tense and awkward and Aziraphale didn’t quite get the angle right as the two broke apart for a moment. It was only that, though - a moment - because then Crowley lifted his free hand to cup Aziraphale’s cheek and turned toward him to press their lips together again. It was a bit like lightning, or perhaps more like static after doing laundry, but Aziraphale shivered with it as he kissed back.

“Finally,” Crowley murmured against his lips, “finally, _ finally._” He backed Aziraphale against the wall and kissed him with even more intent, the hand on his cheek sliding up into Aziraphale’s hair. His fingers curled and tugged, drawing a wretched sound from somewhere deep inside of Aziraphale as his lips parted in response and Crowley’s tongue met his. It was wet and warm and the slide was intoxicating. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said between kisses, reluctant to pull away but everything was suddenly moving very quickly and there was a lot to discuss. He turned his face away from the next kiss which landed on his cheek before Crowley nosed down under his jaw and inhaled, leaning his body against Aziraphale’s in a pleasant way. 

It appeared to calm him and Aziraphale rested his hands on Crowley’s back between his shoulder blades, right where his wings would begin. He rubbed, fingers digging through fabric into muscle, and massaged as any remaining tension eased. Crowley made a soft noise as his wings unfurled from their hiding place, shimmering black and beautiful. 

He’d seen them at the end of the world, of course, but seeing them this close reminded him of what it was like to groom them so long ago. Aziraphale couldn’t resist and he reached out to drag his fingers down through tempting primaries. It elicited the most beautiful sound from Crowley who pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s pulse and whined. 

“Did you buy us a nest?” Aziraphale asked quietly as he continued to run his fingers through soft feathers, enjoying every shiver and twitch his touches drew out of Crowley. “Is this your way of propositioning me?” 

“I think,” Crowley murmured, “the correct word is _ proposing_.” 

It took Aziraphale’s breath away for a moment, despite not needing to breathe. The hand that carded through Crowley’s feathers stilled while Aziraphale’s free hand moved to tangle in thick red hair. He didn’t want Crowley to pull away. 

“It isn’t too fast?” Aziraphale asked quietly. “Too sudden?” 

Crowley’s breath was warm against his neck as the demon laughed. “Is six thousand years too sudden? I could court you properly, if you’d like.” 

“Isn’t courting technically my job?” Aziraphale replied and Crowley scoffed. 

“Maybe,” Crowley replied, “but fuck the rules.” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale had trouble hiding his grin. He tugged fondly at Crowley’s hair which earned him a playful nip in return. A sensation in his chest bloomed and flourished, warm and comforting and _ fond _ as he tugged Crowley into a proper hug. 

The demon, bless him, tossed his glasses away and snuggled close. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes and Aziraphale drank it in, making up for years of avoiding this very thing. He rubbed his fingertips against Crowley’s scalp and noticed the way his chest vibrated with a soft, pleased sound in response. It was alluring to have him so close and so warm, his chest rising and falling and pressing against all the spaces where Aziraphale was soft. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered and Crowley’s fingers curled in the back of his jacket reflexively. “_Wine comes in at the mouth and love comes in at the eye_,” Aziraphale began, “_that’s all we should know for the truth, before we grow old and die._” 

He heard Crowley scoff and felt him shake his head against his shoulder. “_I lift the glass to my mouth_,” Aziraphale got his hand beneath Crowley’s chin and encouraged his head up so he could stare into his lovely golden eyes. “_I look at you, I sigh_.” 

Crowley surged forward and kissed him soundly. Aziraphale allowed it, opened his mouth as Crowley pressed in and tried to soothe the frantic act by running his fingers through his hair. His free hand rested against the point of Crowley’s hip and squeezed as they kissed until they were breathless because what’s the fun of remembering you don’t need to breathe in a moment like this? 

“Yeats, you just quoted Yeats at me,” Crowley grumbled as he nipped Aziraphale’s lower lip and then pressed open kisses to his jaw. “I can’t believe you’re quoting poetry.” 

“I love you, so it seems like a lovely time to quote poetry at you my dear.” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whined. 

“Yes, love?” 

“Egh.” 

Aziraphale laughed at that. “I’ve spent thousands of years pretending and avoiding this. I have a lot of time to make up for, you know.” 

“I love you too,” Crowley rushed, then busied his mouth with a kiss to the underside of Aziraphale’s chin. 

“I know. I don’t think you would have bought us a nest otherwise.” 

“It isn’t a _ nest_, Angel,” Crowley groaned before he bit down on the spot he’d been kissing, much to Aziraphale’s delight. 

“So you say.” Aziraphale’s hand rested gently against the back of Crowley’s neck. “Would you like to show me the rest of the place?” 

“Yeah, alright,” Crowley said as he pulled away, reaching for Aziraphale’s hand as he did to once more lace their fingers together. “C’mon. You’re going to love the library.” 

**

Aziraphale loved the library. It was small compared to the book shop, but the room had built-in shelving and space for a desk and a couple of armchairs. It was the one space where he took lead on decor and set-up, Crowley happy to watch and sometimes misplace books just to get a rise out of him. 

The rest of the cottage came together slowly but surely. Aziraphale did give his input when solicited (and sometimes when not), particularly with comfort in mind. Crowley still preferred clean, sparse spaces and modern accents while Aziraphale preferred his spaces to resemble an eighty year old woman’s yard sale collection. 

There was no accounting for taste on either of their parts, really. 

So Crowley allowed Aziraphale to choose the couch, while insisting his ridiculous throne chair join it in the living room. They found armchairs different from the library that both of them liked and soon enough the living room was furnished. 

The kitchen and bathrooms came together nicely, too. Plush rugs, monochrome colors, and more pans than Aziraphale believed either of them would ever use. Regardless Crowley insisted on them, spouting something about picking up cooking in his downtime. 

The tricky bit was the bedroom. Aziraphale saw it in Crowley’s shoulders as he prowled around the still-empty space trying to envision what it could be. They focused on all the other rooms first because they were simpler, but as Crowley rocked back from the balls of his feet to his heels and regarded the room, Aziraphale wondered if his hesitation was instinctual more than intellectual. 

“Crowley,” he said softly after Crowley had stared at a space where Aziraphale assumed a bed could go for a solid fifteen minutes. 

Crowley startled out of his quiet contemplation. “Mm?” 

“Perhaps if we go out shopping we’ll get a better idea of what we want,” he suggested gently.

Crowley glanced at him, blissfully glasses-less so that Aziraphale could see his eyes. He glanced back at the space, then back to Aziraphale and nodded. 

“Yeah, alright. You’ve distracted me anyway.” 

Aziraphale pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. “Lot of good it was doing, you just staring.” 

“It was doing more than you might think,” Crowley shot back as he stalked over to the door. Then he paused and glanced over his shoulder, a certain vulnerability shivering across his expression. 

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale closed the distance between them and set his hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “I know. You’ve been doing a wonderful job, now maybe we can actually begin to fill the room hm?” 

They drove into London to a shopping centre. It was not Aziraphale’s scene by any means, but Crowley seemed right at home. Apparently shopping centres were one of his, down to the sticky floors and over perfumed shops. 

“Brilliant stuff. Crowds, confusing deals, conflicting smells, this is the perfect sort of place to aggravate people just enough to get them thinking all those naughty thoughts. Capitalism concentrated, really, and all the greed and envy that comes with it.” He looped one of his arms through Aziraphale’s as they walked. 

They stopped by a mattress shop and Aziraphale watched Crowley slink around the displays. An attendant, a young man in a polo shirt, walked up to ask if he needed help and a single scathing look from Crowley sent him heading in the other direction. Aziraphale scoffed. 

“He’s just doing his job, dear,” he pointed out, “no need to be testy.” 

“I’m not _ testy_,” Crowley grumbled and glanced at Aziraphale before back to the mattress he’d been inspecting. He pressed his hand down into it and the bed seemed to have a nice give. A glance at the sign told Aziraphale that was due to memory foam. Humans really were inventive creatures, coming so far from sticks and hay to memory foam. 

“You are,” Aziraphale replied matter-of-factly, because it was indeed a matter of fact. Crowley was testy from his narrowed eyes to his tense shoulders. It wouldn’t do. Aziraphale crossed over to him and slipped a hand beneath his shirt, splaying gentle fingers over Crowley’s lower back. The demon practically radiated warmth and the muscles beneath his hand tensed, then relaxed, and Crowley’s body followed suit. He leaned into Aziraphale’s side, and Aziraphale hummed, pleased. 

“There’s a love,” he smiled and looked at the bed. “You like this one?” 

“Only one way to find out, really,” Crowley said, and the look of bliss quickly turned into one of mischief faster than Aziraphale could react. 

The next thing he knew he was yanked up into Crowley’s arms and tossed onto the bed. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped, though his irritation didn’t last long as he settled onto his back on the surprisingly soft bed and sighed loudly. “You fiend.” 

“Only the finest of fiends,” Crowley replied as he flopped unceremoniously onto the bed. They both lay there quietly for a few moments and Aziraphale peered up at the unpleasant fluorescent lights above them. 

“Do you like it?” Crowley asked softly, surprisingly still on the bed beside him. When Aziraphale tilted his head to glance at him he noticed Crowley wasn’t looking at him, the line of his body tense and waiting. He looked vulnerable, and something protective and fierce welled up inside of Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale rolled to his knees and leaned over Crowley whose eyes finally flicked over to meet his, though they were still protected behind dark lenses. “I do. I like it most because you’re in it.” He leaned down and kissed him indecently, all too aware of the eyes on them but not caring in the slightest because Crowley yielded almost immediately and Aziraphale was ready to devour him. 

“Ah-erm, sirs, sorry to bother but it seems like you rather, well, is this the winner then?” The store attendant was back, fidgeting awkwardly as Aziraphale pulled back from the kiss and glanced over at him. 

“It is. We’ll take it.” 

Crowley grinned like an idiot beneath him. A beautiful idiot. 

**

Somehow, sheets were a bigger challenge than the bed. Aziraphale should have realized trying to accomplish it all in one day was foolish, but there he stood watching Crowley stress over linens. He’d observed as Crowley touched and tested different types of cottons, silks, and polyesters. There were thread counts to consider as well. The final hurdle, after all of those sorts had been narrowed down, was what Aziraphale thought to be the simplest: color. 

But this was Crowley’s ultimately stumbling block, and he was twenty minutes into getting himself worked up over it. In his hands he held a set of deep red sheets, high quality egyptian cotton, a decent thread count. Aziraphale was certain they were just as good as the last few sets of sheets that had caught Crowley’s eye, but apparently there was something he was missing. 

He watched as Crowley became more agitated, shaking his head and grumbling, “no, no, this isn’t right” as he set the sheets back and prowled over to the display that boasted shades of blue. He picked up another set, unzipped the plastic and slipped his fingers inside to sample it. It pleased him about as much as the last one, and Aziraphale was exhausted. 

“Crowley,” he said, trying to get the demon’s attention to no avail. Sighing, he tried again, this time sharper, firmer, “Crowley!”

Crowley immediately looked up at him and swallowed hard. “What?” 

“You’re getting worked up,” Aziraphale said quietly as he stepped closer and pressed his front up along Crowley’s back. “Over sheet colors.” 

“It is _ important_, Aziraphale,” Crowley groused, deflating a bit. 

“Why?” 

Crowley shot him a look and Aziraphale realized why. “Oh.” 

Nesting. He’d made the comment back when the cottage was first purchased about it being a nest, which Crowley had denied. Those instincts, much like the rest of the ones that came with their dispositions, were relatively archaic now. Sure, the habits lived on in spaces like Aziraphale’s bookshop which was in some ways similar to a nest. But this was different. This was something they were building together, but something Crowley likely experienced greater pressure over. 

He wanted to keep his mate, and Aziraphale could hazard a guess that somewhere in that beautiful head of his there was a voice whispering that if he made the wrong choices he’d lose Aziraphale. 

The beast that resided somewhere in his rib cage growled low and dangerous as Aziraphale backed Crowley into a guarded corner behind shelving. Crowley clutched the sheet set in his hands between them. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek as his other hand came up to slide the sunglasses up into his hair. He peered into anxious yellow eyes. “I absolutely adore the nest you are making for us. I think we’ve chosen a lovely mattress, and whatever sheets and blankets you choose will be simply divine. Do you know why I think that?” 

Crowley’s eyes darted away and Aziraphale leaned in to nuzzle along his jaw. “Because I really don’t care what it looks like, or feels like, as long as you’re in it with me.” He nipped Crowley’s earlobe and enjoyed Crowley’s quiet whine. 

“Now pick out some sheets.” He kissed Crowley and then took a few steps back, enjoying how appropriately ruffled the demon looked. 

**

The bed was delivered a few days later and Aziraphale was officially banned from entering the bedroom. He enjoyed trying to sneak peeks only to be chased out by Crowley who tried to threaten him with the prospect of returning to the shopping centre. Eventually he spent his days in the library, still fussing with this and that, reordering certain bits and wondering if he needed to bring more books from the shop. 

Eventually the time came one lovely autumn afternoon when Crowley found Aziraphale out walking the garden. The plants would soon be disappearing for the winter, so he soaked them and the warm afternoon sun in as well as he could. 

“Angel,” Crowley reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together. “C’mon, I have something to show you.” 

“Oh do you?” Aziraphale smiled and allowed himself to be led back into their home and down the hallway to bedroom. 

“We can still change things,” Crowley mentioned by way of dealing with his nerves, Aziraphale knew, “but I think I’ve mostly got it.” 

“Well, let’s see it then.” 

Crowley pushed open the door and tugged Aziraphale inside. The bedroom was lovely, painted in a warm tan color with a brown accent wall. That bit Aziraphale knew about, as it was about the only thing he’d been allowed to help with. More than that, the bed had been set up as the centerpiece of the whole thing, swathed in river-blue sheets and a slate gray comforter. 

The head of the bed was flanked by dark wood nightstands on either side. In one of the corners across from the bed was a comfortable reading chair Aziraphale had only glimpsed when it had been delivered. There was a soft blanket thrown over the back the same cream color as his favorite suit. Beside it was a small side table the same wood as the nightstands with a shaded lamp. 

The afternoon sunlight streamed in through the blinds, dappling the comforter in bright oranges and yellows. Aziraphale had only taken in a fraction of the room and already he itched to be buried beneath the comforter with Crowley. What really caught him by surprise was the sturdy bookcase pushed up against one of the walls. He’d wondered where some of his favorite first editions had gotten off too and crossed the room over to it, fingertips running over worn but well kept spines. 

“Oh Crowley,” he murmured, touched by the attention to detail. This was every bit a room for _ them_. A final glance around the room showed off a closet door and a lovely chest of drawers, on top of which were knick knacks from Aziraphale’s shop and a photograph of the two of them. 

When he turned back to Crowley he found the demon wide eyed and nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for Aziraphale to take in all his work. Aziraphale took a few measured steps over to where Crowley stood and caught his gaze. 

“It is perfect,” Aziraphale said, then kissed him. Crowley’s mouth opened beneath his immediately and Aziraphale took advantage, stroking his tongue over his lower lip and then dipping it into his mouth. Crowley’s own tongue met his as Aziraphale’s fingers slid up to tangle in Crowley’s short hair. 

He tugged and Crowley moaned helplessly into his mouth. He tugged again, this time breaking away to press open mouthed kisses down the line of Crowley’s throat. Possessiveness rose up as the beast inside of him roared. He bit down into Crowley’s pale skin, relishing the surprised gasp it drew from Crowley’s lips, marking and claiming as his mind called out _ mine, mine, mine_. 

Aziraphale soothed the bite, then kissed down to make another, and repeated it all again a little further down until there was a beautiful trail of reddened skin that would fade into fetching bruises. 

He leaned back to admire his work and got a face full of red hair as Crowley nuzzled up beneath his chin and wrapped his arms around his waist. 

“Hello, love,” Aziraphale murmured as he stroked his fingers through Crowley’s hair, rubbing the back of his head fondly. 

Crowley fidgeted in his embrace, fingers curling in the back of Aziraphale’s jacket. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Crowley made a thoughtful sound and pulled his head back to look Aziraphale in the eye. “I want to groom your wings.” 

Aziraphale’s stomach nearly fell out of his body and he sputtered a bit and took a nervous step back. A look of confusion, followed by concern flashed across Crowley’s face. 

“Aziraphale?” 

His wings were terrible things. It wasn’t that Aziraphale didn’t want to groom them, he just found it difficult to. Every time he took them out to try and scratch an itch, or brush out loose feathers, he ended up thinking of heaven, and his kin, and Her, and he couldn’t do it. He lived with the discomfort. 

Now? Now Crowley wanted to _ see them _ and _ touch them _ and Aziraphale offered up a nervous smile and shook his head. 

“It is alright, my dear, I don’t need them looked after.” 

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. He was too clever for his own good. “Why don’t you want me to see your wings, Angel?” 

“There’s no reason, I just think it is unnecessary. My wings are quite fine as they are, thank you. I’d much rather groom yours, if you’d like that, hm?” He was scrambling now, trying to redirect. 

“You’ve groomed my wings before,” Crowley pointed out as he stepped forward for every step Aziraphale retreated. “And yes, I’d eventually like it again in our nessssst,” he licked his lips, “but what I want right now is to touch your wings, run my fingers through them, put my oil on them until you smell like me and then you can return the favor.” 

Aziraphale shivered, some part of him delighted by the prospect. Another part of him, however, a deeper darker part, told him that Crowley would take one look at the mess of his wings and deem him an unsuitable mate. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said his name so tenderly, so kindly, and gently, as if speaking to a spooked animal. He reached up and rested his hand on Aziraphale’s cheek and he couldn’t help but lean into the touch and close his eyes. “Why don’t you want me to see your wings?” 

“They’re terrible,” the words spilled from Aziraphale’s mouth as he turned so his back was to Crowley. “They’re a mess. They’re _ ugly_,” he almost choked on the word, “you won’t like them, you won’t want to touch them.” 

Crowley’s hand came to rest between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades comfortingly but he didn’t press in further. “I like everything about you, Aziraphale, down to your prissy little fits and snobbery.” He huffed, his hand sliding down flat along Aziraphale’s spine before that arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him flush to Crowley’s chest. 

“If you absolutely cannot stand it, I won’t push,” Crowley nuzzled along Aziraphale’s hairline, and Aziraphale tilted his head to breathe in Crowley’s scent. “But I’d like to see them. I’d like to help you strip down to nothing, get comfortable in our nest, then see your wings spread out wide for me to take care of, whatever state they’re in. I love _ you _ Aziraphale,” he sighed, “and everything that entails.” 

Aziraphale fussed with his waistcoat, nervous despite Crowley’s gentle attention. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispered and wrapped his other arm around to hug him. “It is alright.” 

“Yes, then,” Aziraphale mumbled before he lost the courage to. “Do those things.” 

“What things?” Crowley asked, “tell me what you want me to do Aziraphale. I want to hear it from you.” 

“Crowley…” He turned in the embrace and buried his face in his shoulder. 

“You’re safe with me you know. We’re safe here.” They had to be. If they couldn’t be safe in their home, in their nest, then Aziraphale supposed they’d never be safe anywhere. He tucked his nose under Crowley’s jaw and breathed in and out slowly, Crowley’s hands rubbing up and down his back. 

“I want you to strip me,” Aziraphale murmured, “and lead me to the bed, and position me, and ask me for my wings again and this time I’ll give them to you.” He shivered. Creatures of his disposition weren’t supposed to want things like that. They were meant to claim, guard, protect, ravish. But he and Crowley never really fit the mold for what they were supposed to be. Why would they start now?” 

Crowley squeezed him one last time before releasing him from the hug. His hands instead were busy with the task of removing Aziraphale’s jacket, sliding it over his shoulders and down his arms with the utmost care. He even folded it and walked over to set it on top of the dresser before he prowled back over to Aziraphale and started on the next layer. 

When Aziraphale focused on each brush of fingertips and the gentle tug of fabric, the whole thing seemed a little less overwhelming. Crowley took breaks to press their lips together in soft, comforting kisses, and sometimes ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair in a way that made his spine tingle. 

The cool air of the room hit his bare skin when Crowley finally got him out of his undershirt and Aziraphale missed having fabric to fidget with. Now he was laid bare to Crowley from the waist up, curves, padding, and all. He thought distantly about Gabriel’s comment to him about losing the gut and flinched back from Crowley’s hands. 

“Angel,” Crowley admonished, doubling down on his desire to touch. He ran his hands firmly over Aziraphale’s stomach, let his fingertips dig into his hips as he pulled him close. “_ Everything_, Aziraphale,” he whispered into his ear before kissing down his neck. 

Everything, Aziraphale thought to himself and repeated it like a mantra up until his mind went blank with pleasure when Crowley sank his teeth into the skin of his throat. He yelped, the sound so foreign and startling, but Crowley didn’t let up until he was satisfied. Aziraphale could feel the gentle press of fangs and shuddered. 

When he released the skin, the bite was followed with soothing licks and a soft, pleased rumbling from Crowley. Aziraphale just shook, body trembling with want, and love, and, well, honestly mostly love as he tried to keep it from pouring out of his very human vessel. Crowley’s hands moved to the fly of his trousers, unfastening and unbuttoning and then letting them drop to the floor. 

He’d not manifested any sort of effort, having decided this was not the time. What they were doing was about more than the human act of sex. They were bonding, breaking in their nest and laying claim to each other. Aziraphale never expected it to be like this. 

“Come on.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and tugged him over toward the bed, guiding him onto his stomach amongst the comforter and throw blankets. Aziraphale grabbed one of the pillows and pulled it beneath him, hugging it as he tried to breathe out and relax. The quality of the duvet cover was nice, the fabric soft against his bare skin, and there was another wildly fluffy blanket tucked beneath him as well. 

The most comforting weight, however, was that of Crowley as the demon got onto the bed and straddled his hips. His hands ran up Aziraphale’s back, applying pressure, thumbs digging into the meat and muscle. A warm rush of sensations drew a soft, pleased groan from Aziraphale who pressed back into Crowley’s confident hands. 

“Show me your wings,” Crowley said as he leaned down so he could brush a kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek, “please.” 

Who was he to deny such a polite ask? Aziraphale relaxed and his wings unfurled from their hidden place. They spread across the bed on either side of him, the very ends slipping off the bed. He shuddered and gripped the pillow, dizzy with the vulnerability of it all. He knew his wings were dusty and mussed. There were probably broken feathers and others that needed to be pulled out from a failure to appropriately molt. 

He braced himself for a negative reaction, cringing. 

Instead, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Crowley ran his fingertips reverently over his secondaries. The resulting sensation was unbelievable, his stomach turning into syrup as he let out a long, shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Crowley repeated the action and then kissed the back of Aziraphale’s neck. 

“Tell me if anything is too much,” he said before he sat back up and returned to working on Aziraphale’s wing. The touches at first were jarring. They made his muscles jump and twitch, his wings following suit as he tried to acclimate to being touched. Crowley was gentle and thoughtful as he carded his fingers through the feathers, rustling a few loose as he went. 

The longer it went on, the more the tension eased out of Aziraphale’s body. Each brush of fingers became a soothing balm to his nervous heart as his breathing deepened. Soon it was like the world was floating, as if he were on the precipice of consciousness, aware and delighted but just barely. 

Crowley’s strong hands lifted his wing into various positions to best get at every feather and massaged at the joints. This went on for and endless amount of time and Aziraphale reveled in it. He only realized he’d finally drifted into a light sleep when he awoke suddenly, aware of Crowley’s hands on his back between his wings, once again massaging. 

“My dear?” Aziraphale asked, slightly dazed as the world shook back into place. He inhaled and realized everything around him smelled like a crackling campfire and he shivered with delight. Crowley had oiled his wings while he rested and now he smelled like the demon. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Crowley said, trying to affect a tone that seemed nonchalant but it was threaded with anxiety. His hands stopped. 

Aziraphale fluffed his wings, tucked them in, rolled onto his back, and then allowed them to spread out beneath him again. He peered up and met Crowley’s beautiful eyes. “I’m absolutely delighted, my love,” he said. 

“Oh, well, good. I thought you would be.” Crowley reached out to bury his fingers in Aziraphale’s feathers as he leaned in and kissed him. Aziraphale whined, his mouth falling open as Crowley’s tongue took advantage of the invitation. They exchanged slow, languid kisses like that for a while, Crowley petting Aziraphale’s wings. 

Eventually they parted and Aziraphale sat up, Crowley on his knees in front of him, watching, ever patient, always waiting. He’d waited for 6000 years, so it shouldn’t surprise Aziraphale that he’d wait even longer for whatever it is he expected. 

“I like this,” Crowley said as he reached out to touch the mark he left on Aziraphale’s throat. Aziraphale instinctively tilted his head back to show it off more, offering up the line of his throat. Crowley took the invitation and leaned in to press his lips back over the mark, dragging his teeth over it. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whined as his fingers made their home in short, soft red hair.

“Turnabout is fair play, you know,” Crowley murmured against the sensitive skin of his neck. “You left quite a lovely line of marks, only makes sense for me to return the favor.” He punctuated his statement with another bite right above the mark he’d already made. 

“Ah,” Aziraphale’s mind kept slipping into the ether, lost in the sensation and what it meant. “It is supposed to be my job.” 

“And you’ve done a splendid one.” Crowley snickered as he worried the skin and then left it alone with a wet kiss. “Mm.” He leaned back and studied Aziraphale. 

“What?” Aziraphale asked, his defenses flaring underneath Crowley’s thoughtful gaze. 

“If you’d like to do your job, I know a pair of wings that could use a bit of oiling,” he suggested as his wings unfurled behind him, catching the light of the now-setting sun through the slatted blinds. 

Aziraphale did so gladly, dipping his fingers into the gland on his own back in order to brush his fingers through Crowley’s wings to oil them back to their full shine. Crowley sat cross-legged in front of him like he’d done so long ago, relaxed and sagging forward as Aziraphale teased oily fingers over primaries and secondaries and tertiaries. Despite being out of practice, he made an attempt at a massage too and Crowley practically purred beneath his steady hands. 

They collapsed back onto the bed long after the sun had set and the room was cast into darkness. Crowley had managed to wiggle his way out of most of his clothes, dressed only in a pair of black boxer shorts. Aziraphale gathered the demon up into his arms, their wings draped comfortably beneath them and above them, feathers brushing together. 

“You smell like me,” Aziraphale pointed out, pleased. Mingling with the smell of wood fire and incense was his own scent of vanilla and cocoa. They blended well together. 

“I’d hope so. Don’t really want to smell like anything else.” Crowley lazily nuzzled up under Aziraphale’s chin again, stilling. 

Aziraphale allowed silence to lapse between them for a moment before, “do they still bond in hell? Did you ever…” he faltered, not wanting to really know the answer. 

“No.” Crowley shook his head and the hairs tickled Aziraphale’s chin. “No as in I have never. I avoided things down there. Alphas liked to play domination games. They’ll claim and omega, mark them up, scent them, then send them away. Another alpha in a mood will come sniffing around, and suddenly the first alpha is itching for a fight. They have a row, usually someone ends up injured, the omega still ends up with no one.” 

Crowley fell silent, then shrugged. “Lucifer, he’s not a fan of dispositions. He was an omega, cast out of heaven, cast away from his mate. I don’t think he ever got over it.” 

“Michael never visited?” Aziraphale asked. Michael was a beta but a mate was a mate, “it seems cruel of them not to…” 

“I tried to stay out of it. I know they had some connection to hell, as evidenced by the whole holy water incident, but I don’t know if they still see him.” Crowley shivered and snuggled closer to Aziraphale.

The beast inside of Aziraphale snarled at the prospect of being separated from Crowley. He rolled until Crowley was pinned firmly beneath him. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, voice warm but confused. Aziraphale nudged Crowley’s chin up and kissed another spot on his neck, lapping at it before he bit down. This one was harder than the ones before, teeth digging and pinching as Crowley gasped and arched up beneath him. Their mixed scents filled Aziraphale’s nose and he growled low in his throat before he released the bite. 

He’d broken the skin, a little bit of red welling up that he stared at, transfixed for a moment before he came back to himself. “Oh, oh dear, oh Crowley I’m so sorry, hold on one moment -” he began to move away, insistent on grabbing a tissue from the nightstand, but Crowley grabbed him and pulled him back. He looked and found Crowley’s pupils blown, cheeks flushed, and he noticed the way he panted. 

“Azsssiraphale,” Crowley leaned in and kissed him, “I’m yours.” 

“You are mine,” Aziraphale replied, a little out of breath himself now that he’d had a chance to take in Crowley’s response. “And I will never let anyone separate us.” 

He settled after that, Crowley rearranging blankets and pillows around them until they were hemmed in on all sides by comfort. Aziraphale spotted a white feather here, a black feather there, and found it pleased him. They’d tuck them away in the duvet cover and pillows in the morning, but it was a good start to their nest. 

Aziraphale curled around Crowley in the midst of all their comforts and stayed awake long enough to feel Crowley go slack with sleep against his chest. 

**

The Almighty may not have known what would result from Her first created creatures, or that She would scrap it for Her human design, which somehow managed to be even more complicated. Regardless, Aziraphale was grateful. He sat at the kitchen table and watched Crowley, dressed only in boxers, wiggle his hips to the sound of the radio as he cooked bacon and eggs on the stovetop. 

His back was littered with marks that Aziraphale admired, a small possessive flame sparking somewhere in his gut. Their dispositions may sometimes cause more trouble than they’re worth, but Aziraphale wouldn’t trade this for the world. Crowley was _ his _, his mate, his love, his everything. 

As Crowley turned to push bacon and eggs onto two plates, the demon glanced over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows. 

“Like what you see, Angel?” He grinned. 

“I certainly do,” Aziraphale replied, and he did. You could even say he loved it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com).


End file.
